The Council of Elrond (And a REALLY bad day)
by SilverElvenEyes
Summary: WARNING: Ahead, mayham, menence, and two battling sisters dropped into the Council of Elrond. Abby hates her sister, and wishes she would go away. Legolas is caught inbetween. If you do not laugh out loud i will change this summary. read reviews to see!
1. Chapter One: The Council of Elrond

DISCLAIMER: Only Carla and Abby are mine.  
  
AUTHORS NOTE: This is a total girl-flick, so prepare yourself for periods, humor, and a really bad day…  
  
AUTHORS NOTE2: The chapters on these are a little longer than on Ellorme's Story, so if they are too long just let me know and I'll change it.  
  
Chapter One  
  
The Council of Elrond  
  
(And a really bad day)  
  
I was having a really bad day.  
  
First, my sister broke my Lord of the Rings Soundtrack CD and tore up my favorite picture of Legolas on my bulletin board. For that, and that alone I destroyed her computer files (what she so mockingly calls 'stories'). When mom found out what had happened we were both grounded for a month. I can't begin to tell you how hard it is to get mom to change her mind when dad's off in Europe. Too bad he couldn't take Bratzilla with him.  
  
On top of that, I sprained my ankle yesterday, plus I started my period this morning and five minutes later my computer crashed. Which means no talking to friends via email, no writing on story since my sister stole all my notepads, and worst of all, no downloading handsome elf pictures.  
  
I was having a *really* bad day.  
  
I locked my door and refused all food and water. Well, that's half- true. I did lock my door but there's no way that I was refusing dinner.  
  
So there I was, stuck in bed, taping my Legolas picture back together and swearing vengeance when I could walk again and wishing I could meet the real Legolas when I suddenly found myself standing up. Not only was I standing up, painfully, but I was also no longer in my house. Not only that, but I was no longer in America. Even worse, I was no longer in my dimension.  
  
I looked up into the eyes of a gorgeous specimen of the male species and screamed bloody murder.  
  
The unnamed gorgeous specimen of the male species jumped about a foot. All of a sudden I realized I was in really, really big trouble.  
  
I looked around and saw—my god, I thought—Hugo Weaving, Viggo Mortensen, *Orlando Bloom in costume*, Elijah Wood, whatever-his-name-his who plays Gimli, Ian McKellen, and Sean Bean all staring at me along with some more handsome male specimens and a few not so handsome specimens.  
  
"Dang," I said out loud. "Of all the days for this to happen."  
  
I suddenly became aware of the searing pain in my foot and shifted my weight off it.  
  
I was suddenly being guarded by two cute but no cuter that Legolas elves, both with bows drawn.  
  
"I am having a *really* bad day," I groaned to myself.  
  
Of course, half the council immediately jumped to their feet and started yelling at the top of their lungs, either at me, or at Elrond, or at Gandalf, while the other half stared at me darkly. Actually, there was no other half. All of them jumped up and started screaming. Both the handsome elf and the cool wizard looked confused, and to my horror, the REALLY hot elf played by Orlando Bloom was looking at me suspiciously! I felt tears well up in my eyes.  
  
Elrond and Gandalf gave up trying to silence the crowd and just waited until the people shouted themselves hoarse. Maybe "people" isn't the right term.  
  
Dang, I thought, I've just been landed in my fav book of all time, and the people hate me!  
  
When Elrond finally managed to edge a word in, it wasn't quite what I was hoping:  
  
"Hold her in one of the rooms until we can deal with her."  
  
"Wait a second!" I burst out. "You can't lock me up! I have rights!"  
  
Elrond looked at me oddly. "Who are you?" he asked. "Where do you come from? And how did you get here?"  
  
"Ah—well, my name is Abby—Abby Dulbo—but, ah, I don't know how I got here. And you wouldn't believe me if I told you where I was from."  
  
Well, the council wasn't yelling at me anymore. But they were fingering their weapons. I can't think which was worse.  
  
"Try me," the elf-lord replied dryly.  
  
"America?" I offered timidly.  
  
"Let's put her on the rack and see if she talks the truth!" one of the dwarves, not Gimli thank god, roared.  
  
"Typically dwarven savagery." One elf snorted elegantly and stood, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The elves were coming to my rescue! "There are several potent drugs that can be used instead." I choked.  
  
"Excuse me," I began as they started talking about reverse psychology and various interrogation techniques, none of which sounded very pleasant. "Excuse me!" I said louder as they began talking about physical methods of torture (mostly the dwarves) and mental methods of torture (mostly the humans) and passive techniques of torture (mostly the dark-haired elf who sat next to Gandalf who, for the record, did not look elven AT ALL). *"EXCUSE ME!"* I screamed. The group turned to stare at me in disbelief.  
  
"Before you torture me—and I do hope you change your minds about that—would you mind hearing my story? Very odd things are happening. Hobbits carrying magical rings. Black Riders combing the streets. Don't you think there can be a perfectly logical explanation for why I suddenly appeared in your council?" I was having a hell of a good time. I was really getting their attention! This was actually working!  
  
"No," said an elf shortly, and they returned to their argument.  
  
"Hit me," I said to my elven captures. "I really want to wake up." They didn't say anything—actually, they were saying a lot to each other in raised tones, and didn't seem to notice me. I looked to Elrond but he hand his head in his hands and obviously wasn't having a very good day either. I looked to Gandalf but he and the rest of the Council were in the middle of a really big and really noisy argument. I inched over passed that stupid ring—I REALLY wanted to kick it—and sat down in Gandalf's seat next to a very nervous Frodo.  
  
"Don't hit me, Sam," I said to the bush behind me, which, along with Frodo, twitched with shock. "You're in a perfect position to kill me anyway. No need to give up your cover so soon.  
  
"Sorry," I said to Frodo. He didn't answer at first; he was staring at the Ring.  
  
"For what?" He asked at last.  
  
"For making you nervous. I can move over a few seats for a while, if you want, until they decide what torture method is the most effective. I think the brawling's just about to begin, though, so I should have a few minutes before my brain is wiped or my body stretched or my system drugged." I tilted my head back. "Stop moving, Sam, they're going to catch you." The irritating rustle behind me stopped.  
  
Frodo looked at me with those big blue eyes, and he was so cute for a moment I almost forgot about the Frodo Dance. My lips twitched with amusement at the thought of him throwing Sam into Rosie's arms.  
  
"Do you like playing matchmaker?" I asked.  
  
He looked startled. "What do you mean?"  
  
"With Rosie and Sam, I mean. Ow—dammit, Sam, that hurt!"  
  
"Sam, let her alone," Frodo said absently. "You're not lying, are you?"  
  
"No," I answered truthfully. "Too bad they think I am." I nodded to the arguing mixture of people in front of me. "This has been a really bad day. Do you think I should stay quiet or try and tell my story?"  
  
Frodo peered at me again with those cute blue eyes. He was cute in a kid-sort of way, like a little brother. He seemed more inclined to listen that the mulling mass of bodies in front of me.  
  
"I want to hear your story," he said softly.  
  
So I told him everything—how I cam from another universe, that his world was a book that I happened to love, that I didn't know how I got here and I thought maybe I'd fallen through a crack in the space/time continuum. Even about the fact that I sprained my ankle yesterday and why I was having a bad day (besides the obvious, of course). I didn't tell him who's picture was ripped up—I just said a picture of a friend of mine all the while thinking I WISH to myself.  
  
"I don't think you're lying," he said at last.  
  
"Really?" I looked at him in surprise. "Even about your world being a book made into a movie and that your shadows are in my dimension and that I'm from a type of future that this world will never see?"  
  
Frodo's lips twitched slightly, and he smiled as he looked down at his lap. "You seem to have taken to this world pretty good," he replied softly.  
  
"But how can you tell?"  
  
"Your clothes."  
  
I blinked. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
He looked up. "Even the elves can't make clothes like that," he explained. "Too complex. You can't be from this world, then."  
  
My, my. Little Dancing Frodo is a fashion expert.  
  
I grinned at him, and he grinned back. "So," I said. "What do I do now?"  
  
"Well, if you really know what's going to happen," he said, "and what has happened, why don't you tell us something only one of us would know?"  
  
"Like how—oops, sorry."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"Like how your parents drowned when you were little, and that's why you were raised by Bilbo."  
  
Frodo looked down and didn't say anything again.  
  
"Hey," someone said suddenly. "Where'd she go?"  
  
There was a moment of frantic looking before I called out, "You who! Over here! Its not like I'm going to run off—ow, god, will you please watch the hair?" I demanded as I was hauled out of my chair. Frodo stood up, too.  
  
"Wait," he said, just as I was beginning to panic and yelling that I was innocent and that I wouldn't touch an orc with a sixty-mile long pole. "You haven't even heard what she has to say. Let her speak!"  
  
I could have kissed him right then and there, right on the lips just for that. Legolas forgotten (for less than a microsecond), Frodo had rescued me! Chicken-Dancing Frodo saved me!  
  
I love you, I mouthed at him, and he blushed bright red all the way up to his hairline.  
  
So I told my story all over again, with a few minor changes like leaving out the really crummy day part and only sticking in the picture taping (not mentioning WHO'S picture it was) and the sprained ankle (pointedly to the elves, who then let me sit down after Elrond, always the healer, glared at them).  
  
There was a long silence after I was done. Then someone, and for the sake of Lord of the Rings confidality (it wasn't anyone cute or in the fellowship) I won't say who, said, "Burn her."  
  
"Excuse me!" I leapt to my feet and turned on him, and the writer in me snapped into place like a well-made building block. "I suppose you think you're a moral individual?" I demanded, ignoring my painful ankle and storming over towards him. I was a shrimp next to the guy but I was not about to let him damn me to one hell of a painful death. "And I suppose you think you're doing justice to your race. Well, you're not. I'm a human and I know just how stupid we can be, so disregard everything he has to say," I added over my shoulder.  
  
"Should we disregard what you say, too?" someone asked dryly.  
  
"I never said that," I retorted. I turned back to the guy. "How can you prove me wrong? How do you know I'm lying? How can you be so sure I should be damned to a witch's death because I happen to be the unfortunate victim of rogue magic? Who are you to judge me? Who are you to damn a life? Who are you to say who is right and who is wrong, who should live and who should die? Who are any of you?" I demanded, turning carefully and wishing I could spin dramatically but not wanting my ankle to buckle under me. "Who are any of you to deal out death and judgement? Hmm? Who gives you the right to kill or to torture? To damn a human being (crummy beings though we can be at times), a human *child*, to death by fire because you don't want to have to listen to me? So you won't have to be, 'inconvenienced,' I believe you said, by a story that just might be true? That's the way Sauron and his minions work, my friends, not how the Free People's of Middle-Earth should work. That's the code the Nazgul follow, dear, not the way you should follow. That's why an orc enjoys killing, why he finds it 'fun', rather than necessary, like any sane being should find it." I was shocked. Some people couldn't meet my eyes they were feeling so bad! "So keep that in mind while you drug me, stretch me, analyze me," I went on mercilessly. "Keep that in mind while I scream and cry and beg to be released. And keep that in mind the next time your child, parent, lover, friend is tortured or maimed for the same reasons." I was breathing hard I was so aggravated. "Just keep that in mind," I repeated.  
  
There was a long silence. Then someone said, "I'm hungry. Let's just vote and get this over with, shall we?"  
  
"There's still the question of the Ringbearer," someone else replied.  
  
"I will take it," Frodo said into the silence. Everyone turned to stare at him. "Though I do not know the way," he added softly.  
  
"Wait!" I cried. Gandalf, about to speak, stopped. "I can prove who I am to you! I know who will offer to go with Frodo." I looked around. "Take me somewhere where I can't hear you, and then I will tell one of you who his guides will be, and you can come back and see if I'm right."  
  
Elrond and Gandalf looked at one another, and nodded. "Very well," Elrond said. "Elrohir, take her." One of the elves that sat by Elrond in a chair stood up and motioned for me to follow him. I went after him, quite a long ways into Rivendell. When we finally stopped in a room he nodded to me. "All right," he said. "Who will offer to guide Frodo?"  
  
I decided not to close my eyes—it might look like I was trying to spy mentally on the Council. "First Gandalf, then Aragorn, then Legolas, then Gimli, then Boromir, then Sam will pop up and say that Frodo isn't going anywhere without him. Then Merry and Pippin will jump up from where they were hiding and say they will have to be tied up in a sack and send home to be kept from following. Then Elrond says, 'Nine companions. Very well, you shall be the fellowship of the Ring!' And Pippin says, 'Right—where are we going?'"  
  
"Is that all?" Elrohir asked. I nodded. He walked me ahead of him this time. He obviously expected me to run. I stood in the middle of the Council and waited while Elrohir whispered with his father. I shifted nervously.  
  
Elrond stood up. "The girl speaks truthfully!" he said to the Council. Then to me, he added, "A latent welcome to Rivendell, Abby."  
  
I beamed.  
  
"And how do we know she didn't just get lucky?" Boromir demanded.  
  
I always knew I didn't like that guy.  
  
"She got it right, word for word," Elrond replied. "What more proof do you need?"  
  
"Let her tell us something that only one of us would know," Boromir said loudly. "Something no one could guess."  
  
There was a very long silence.  
  
I stared at my feet for a moment before looking up. "I can tell you who the bearers of the Three Elven Rings are," I said quietly. 


	2. Chapter Two: Sister Darling

DISCLAIMER: Just Carla and Abby are mine…  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Sister Darling  
  
If you've ever seen an elf struck dumb, it's an interesting experience. Even more interesting is the expression of an elf that's received a severe shock from a *human*, and even better than that is the look on his face when it's a human *girl* he is completely astounded by.  
  
Every elf in the Council, including Elrond, was stunned silent.  
  
Gandalf stepped forward. "I think we'd best discuss this in privet," he rumbled. I didn't reply, only nodded, and followed as he led me out of the Council along with Elrond.  
  
We came to what must be Elrond's privet chambers. Both elf and wizard were completely expressionless, and at this point I admit I was scared.  
  
Okay, okay, I was scared you-know-what less.  
  
"Well," Elrond said after a painfully long moment of silence. "Who are the bearers?"  
  
I swallowed and found that my mouth was dry with fear. "You are, sir," I replied without looking up. "You wield the Ring of Sapphire, greatest of the Three—I'm sorry, I can't remember it's name. Gandalf wields the Ring of Fire, and Galadriel holds the Ring of Adamant."  
  
"Look at me, Abby," Elrond commanded. I looked up into those dark eyes and instantly felt as though I were being tested or probed. Perhaps I was.  
  
"How did you acquire this knowledge?" he asked.  
  
"I read it from a book, sir," I said in a voice hardly above a whisper.  
  
"What book?" Gandalf asked, his voice like cold steel.  
  
"It was called *The Silmarillion*, sir."  
  
I finally managed to look away from Elrond—I felt as though I was being released.  
  
"Do you speak elvish?" he asked me at last.  
  
I knew enough by now to look at him when I replied. "No, sir."  
  
Elrond and Gandalf began speaking rapidly in what I figured must be the elven language. I stood there and stared at my hands, and realized I was sweating I was so scared.  
  
At last Elrond looked up. "Though I do not know how our most heavily guarded secret has ended up in a book," he said with heavy irony. "I do believe that you mean no harm, that your tale is true, and that you are who you say you are. But," he added warningly, lifting a finger to accent the point, "you will not be allowed to leave Rivendell. The Enemy must not find out such a secret as yours. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir," I whispered.  
  
He regarded me for a moment, then shook his head. "Don't look so scared, child. We're not going to eat you."  
  
"Even if we run low on food?" I couldn't help but ask.  
  
To my surprise, both Gandalf and Elrond chuckled. "Even if we run low," Elrond assured me. "If you don't need anything at the moment, why don't you go walk for a while? I'll send someone to find you in a little while."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"And don't call me 'sir.' Call me Elrond, or Master Elrond if you must be formal."  
  
"Yes s—Elrond."  
  
I scuttled out of there as fast as I could, trying to seem as though I was completely at ease.  
  
Bullshit. I was scared rhymes-with-witless.  
  
I wandered around Rivendell aimlessly, becoming thoroughly lost until I finally found my way outside, and tried to calm my seething stomach.  
  
Just as I thought that I had been forgotten, an elf that looked vaguely familiar came up to me. "Abby?" he asked.  
  
"Huh?" I replied intelligently. All I could notice was how cute he was. And young, too.  
  
Oh, stop it, I told myself. He's probably closer to six millennia than your age!  
  
"You're foot better?" he asked.  
  
"Huh?" I repeated, taken by his hairstyle. "Uh, yeah."  
  
"Fast recovery."  
  
"It's amazing how fast one can recover when you're faced with bodily torture."  
  
The elf's eyes crinkled in amusement. "If it's any comfort, I doubt Lord Elrond would have let them go through with it."  
  
"Hallelujah." The elf shook his head in bewilderment. I just shrugged.  
  
"Follow me, please," he instructed, a bit arrogantly.  
  
"Do I have to?"  
  
"Only if you want dinner."  
  
"Let's move it or loose it, people!"  
  
The elf laughed and motioned for me to follow him. I trotted after him, admiring how nicely my foot had cleared up when turning up in Rivendell. Must be something in the air.  
  
He left me at a small but cozy room, wished me pleasant dreams and went off on down the hallway.  
  
"Just like a man," I muttered, peering at my room curiously, "to forget to tell you where the bathroom is. And how the hell am I going to change my pads? Shit. And what about next time? Does Elrond keep stores of painkillers? Would he let me use them, or would I just have to suffer? My god, would the painkillers make me sick? Ugh, what's that *smell?*"  
  
That "smell" turned out to be dinner. It was a perfectly good dinner—vegetable and meat stew, white bread, butter, wine, (do I look twenty-one? I wondered) and a pastry for desert, but when you are on your period, especially the first day, not only do you not want to eat, you don't want to smell anything. And I had just started my period—and to my horror, I realized my pain medication was wearing off.  
  
By the time someone was sent to check on me, I was lying in bed moaning like a demented animal. Alarmed, the elf wanted to send for Elrond, who was the last person I wanted to explain my—illness—to. Luckily, the elf's wife, who was a something of an elven-nurse, happened to walk by at the time. After she sent her hubby out I managed to explain everything through whimpers of pain.  
  
All I have to say is we need to take after the elves more. At least in medicine. The painkillers she gave me not only quieted my stomach and killed my cramps and other severe discomforts (there was nothing MILD about this period) in about five minutes, but it knocked me out as well. When I woke up there was a bowl of plain broth on the table, a stack of clean rags that I suspected were pads the size of Mount Doom, and plenty of undergarments. Not only that, but I found someone had put a bathtub in the privy room, filled it with hot water, and added heated rocks to keep the water warm. It was just right when I woke up, so I gratefully dove in. I found to my amazement that it even had a plug in the bottom I could pull. I tried to see where the water drained but decided after a moment that I really didn't want to know.  
  
I sipped the broth and curled back up wearily. I kicked off my shoes, slipped into a silken nightgown and fell asleep after putting the half- finished broth back on the table.  
  
It had to be around noon or one o'clock when I woke up in the morning. From the look of the place, someone had come in, started a fire and also taken out the broth and left in its place some fresh wheat bread and mild jam, with some water to wash it down with. Also was a note under a cup of herbs saying if I needed more painkillers to ask one of the elves for "Delara." I whispered a thank-you to Elbereth and boiled some water, pouring it over the herbs and drinking the dose of painkillers. I went back to sleep—what else was there to do?—and woke up in later afternoon, drowsy and not at all inclined to get up. I fussed in bed for a while, checked out the room a little bit and napped some more. This, for any of you who have had the blessing of not having periods yet, or being boys, is all you can do for the first two days of your period. Especially if there's no incentive to get up, such as school, though for us that's not much of an incentive.  
  
Of course, when a handsome elf knocks on your door, the LAST thing you want is for him to see you in a nightgown on your period with no perfume on.  
  
I squirted myself with some sweet-smelling stuff I suspected must be perfume that I had found on my dresser pulled on a bathrobe and opened the door.  
  
Legolas Greenleaf's chest stood exactly two inches from my nose.  
  
"Hi," I said weakly.  
  
"Hello," he replied simply. Men. They never know how to start a conversation.  
  
"Can I help you?" I asked politely.  
  
"Are you Abby?" he asked in return.  
  
Was I the girl you were looking at suspiciously only yesterday?  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"Lord Elrond wants to see you."  
  
"Already?"  
  
He cocked an eye at me. "Already."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"How long what?"  
  
MEN!  
  
"How long do I have to get ready?"  
  
He looked confused. "You look fine." In a bathrobe and nightgown. Unwashed. Uncombed. No shoes. On my period. Yeah, right.  
  
I laughed weakly. "How long, Legolas?"  
  
"Uh, I suppose half an hour?"  
  
"Okay, half an hour it is."  
  
I closed the door and rushed around the room. No time to make the bed—dang, where was my makeup? Ah, yes I had it in my pocket. Just a bit—I was all flushed anyway. Uh, fresh clothes? Umm, smell good. Wash armpits—what now? Uh, uh, shoot, fifteen minutes! Shoes, where's my damn SHOES?!! Knock on the door. Shoot, he's early. "Just a minute!" Run a comb through hair. Check appearance seven times for luck. KNOCK KNOCK. "Coming!" Straighten my clothes once more and open door.  
  
"Sorry," I said mildly. "Just getting used to a new room."  
  
"Ah," he replied.  
  
We walked in silence down the hall to Elrond's room. The hottest elf ever to live left me there, to my disappointment. I knocked on Elrond's door, and went in.  
  
It was just like in the movie—only bigger. If you remember, when Elrond comes in giving his "men are weak" speech, there's a door in the upper right corner of the room and a hall behind it. You can't see it in the movie, but at the end of that hall was the door I came through.  
  
I walked down the hall where I could hear voices at the far end of the room.  
  
I turned a corner and met face to face with my worst nightmare.  
  
My sister Carla, having tea with Gandalf the Gray and Elrond Half- Elven, Lord of Rivendell.  
  
ME: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH  
  
CARLA: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH  
  
TOGETHER: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.  
  
ELROND: MY EARS! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
  
So it didn't happen quite like that—Elrond didn't yell, just tried to shut us up. Not easy. I certainly screamed, though, and so did Carla. In fact, to my extreme disgust, I dropped down in a dead faint.  
  
"Must be the stress," I woke to hear my sister say. "She could never deal with stress well."  
  
I lunged blindly for her voice and was rewarded when we went down in a tangle of arms and legs. "HOW DARE YOU?" I screamed, pulling her hair. "HOW DARE YOU RUIN MY VISIT TO THE ONE PLACE I LOVE MORE THAN A BOOKSTORE YOU SADISTIC BITCH! I'LL RIP YOUR HAIR RIGHT OUT OF YOUR SCALP YOU—"  
  
I was dragged away by an arm of considerable force by the back of my shirt. NOTE: Gandalf may LOOK old but don't let that fool you. He lifted me right off the ground and plopped me on the couch as Elrond did something similar to Carla. Carla had the stupidity to fight Elrond, who then dumped her head-first into the couch, to her extreme annoyance, before both of them took chairs between us.  
  
I sat up and glowered at my sister. "I hate you," I told her.  
  
"Go to hell."  
  
"I take it you know one another?" Gandalf said sarcastically.  
  
"You just think you're so pretty, don't you?" I shot back, ignoring him. "Well I have news for you, little sister. Little *baby*. Its nap time for you. Go home!"  
  
"You should talk. You ruined my novel—I worked six months on that!"  
  
"If you don't know how to replace a deleted file, don't come whining to me."  
  
Elrond and Gandalf, to their credit, were amazingly patient—let us run our stream of insults (some of which weren't exactly pleasant) until we started repeating ourselves, then stopped us with a few dry, well-said sentences. Both of us stopped bickering.  
  
"I gather you're sisters," Elrond said with well-placed irony.  
  
"I want a blood test," Carla retorted.  
  
"I want a cage."  
  
"I want a straight-jacket."  
  
"I want a tranquilizer!"  
  
"You both will be staying here until we can find a way to send you back," Gandalf continued.  
  
"Give her over to Sauron," Carla suggested. She'd read *The Hobbit* and *The Fellowship of the Ring*, but had hated both so had given up.  
  
To a place and people whom Sauron was a real and dangerous threat, that was the WRONG thing to say, missy.  
  
"That's quite enough!" Elrond thundered. "Carla, I will deal with you later. You know where your room is—you're dismissed!"  
  
Carla stormed out like the toddler she is.  
  
I sat and stared at my lap, humiliated. I had lost my temper in front of two of the people I respected most from my reading of J.R.R. Tolkien's work.  
  
"Sorry," I mumbled.  
  
"What was that?" Elrond asked sharply.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"And well you should be!" I realized dimly that Gandalf had left, leaving the most dang intimidating elf-lord I had ever met, and me, together, alone. Well, the only elf-lord I had ever met but still…  
  
"She's your sister."  
  
"I hate her!" I burst out suddenly, tears filling my eyes. "She's so cruel! She—she—" I stopped and bit my lip hard, flinching when I pulled a bit of skin off the top of my lower lip.  
  
"She what?" Elrond demanded.  
  
"She took away my parent's attention," I said softly in the silence. All the bitterness and rage I held for her in my heart bubbled up like bile in my mouth. "My parents always paid attention to me before she was born," I said bitterly. "Then Carla was born and it was, 'Ooooh, look at the cute baby!' and 'she'll be growing up to be a famous person someday,' 'too bad Abby isn't more like her!' 'Honey, did you remember to give Carla her allowance today? We really should raise it, she's so well behaved.'" Tears trickled down my cheeks. "They don't care," I said into my lap. "They don't care about me anymore."  
  
I heard the soft rustle of silken fabric as Elrond stood and came to sit by my side and put his hand gently on my shoulder.  
  
One thing I'll give the elves is that they know when not to preach, unlike human adults. "It's hard being the older sibling," Elrond stated softly to no one in particular. "The younger is always babied, for the parents fear her being picked on."  
  
"She never gets picked on," I said resentfully. "She's the popular one. *I'm* the one who's picked on. *I'm* the one dealing with the bullies at school, and the teachers who all favor *her*, the little brat."  
  
Another wonderful thing about elves—they have plenty of time on their hands. Eons, literally, so they don't mind sitting down with someone and listening to their problems if there are no other pressing needs.  
  
"There's not much I can say or do, Abby," he told me, and I was startled by the use of my name. I looked up, as was probably what he wanted me to do. "All I can do is give you a little bit of advice—don't hate your sister so much you can't feel joy yourself, or live your own life. Your parents love you and they always will. Maybe Carla is playing a game with you for your parents' attention. So, play her back. If your parents don't see what she's doing—compete back at her. Do better in school, work harder in projects, get the favor of the teachers again, talk to your parents more. Heaven knows that's what Elladan and Elrohir did."  
  
I sniffed. "They did? *Them?*"  
  
"Oh, dear Elbereth, yes. They were always competing. They were impossible. Especially when Arwen was born—but, they grew out of it, and they learned to work over their differences."  
  
"By burring each other with punishment chores?"  
  
"That, too," Elrond replied, and chuckled. "Child, I'm sure some of us would do almost anything to be an only child, but we don't have that option. All we have is the option of what to do with our lives, and what road we choose to travel."  
  
I looked askance at him. "Are all elves this cryptic, or are these symptoms of the Wisdom Disease only found in Elf-Lords?"  
  
Elrond only laughed shook his head. "Go on with you," he replied. "I need to get some work done."  
  
"Is it implied that I, Abby Elrean Dulbo, would interrupt your concentration by some means?" I asked with mock pique.  
  
"You would, easily, and without realizing it," Elrond retorted. "Go on, off with you!"  
  
I scampered out of the room and ran down the entrance hall. I needed a bit of fresh air.  
  
I found my sister outside, pestering a bumblebee, who promptly stung her. She can be so stupid sometimes.  
  
"Hey, stupid," she greeted me, ironically. "Wanna hear what my teachers say about my latest report?"  
  
I smiled evilly in response. "Let the games begin," I answered gleefully. 


	3. Chapter Three: Archery Lessons

DISCLAIMER: Just the fighting sisters are mine…

Chapter Three

Archery Lessons

I woke up and frowned at the ceiling. 

The sound came again. KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK!

I flung off my covers, snatched up a bathrobe and staggered to the door, still bleary-eyed with sleep. I stubbed my toe on the door and yelped, before bashing my forehead opening the stupid thing. So when I finally got the ridiculous door open, I was not in the best of moods.

"Uh?" I said grumpily when I got the stupid thing open.

"Abby?" said the tall elf that stood there. He was the same one who had been sent to find me my first day in Rivendell.

"Uh?" I repeated.

"Your sister's in trouble."

"Good," I replied. "Let her stay there." I had the door half-closed (for godsake, what did he expect? It wasn't even noon yet!) but the elf stuck his foot in the door.

"I'm afraid I really must insist you come with me," he said. Persistent little—uh—tall fellow.

I gave him a look. "You're being painfully polite." He flushed. Then, in a regal tone I added, "Allow me to don my apparel and I shall be with you as soon as I find it humanly possible."

"Oh, and _I'm_ being painfully polite?" he muttered as I closed the door.

I threw on the first things that my hands touched—namely, my pair of jeans that stunk almost as bad as a manure pile, my shirt that was sticky from the juice I had spilt on it, and my bra that was discolored from the use of several natural deodorants that weren't worth the money because they never worked. 

When I came back out the elf hustled me down the hallway, practically running. I was just going along at a leisurely pace, because I knew from experience what I would find when we reached her room.

Indeed, there was Carla, sitting at her desk in a room similar to mine, a stack of sweets the size of Rivendell itself surrounding her, not even looking guilty as she argued--_argued!_--with Elrond about the removal of them.

"I snatched them from the kitchen fair and fair!" she was complaining. "I should be allowed to keep them!"

There's Carla for you. She can find the kitchen and the sweets before she can find the bathroom or her bed.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a reply," Elrond replied stiffly.

A handsome elf (OK, OK, they're all handsome) who looked a _lot_ like Elrond and must have been one of his sons, muttered darkly under his breath about "children not knowing their places." Elrond shot him a look that was part amusement and part annoyance and said dryly, "I _completely_ agree." The elf colored slightly. 

"As punishment," Elrond said loudly, "I will be turning you over to some of my equipment managers—maybe some hard work will recycle that attitude of yours."

There was a loud groan from behind me that sounded distinctly elvish.

"And _you_," Elrond added, rounding on me, ignoring the reluctant elves. I gulped nervously and backed up. Elves can be so dang _intimidating_ when they want to! "You will be there with her. I want you to supervise her." His lips twitched sideways. "I can't afford to have all my elves running madly from Rivendell, screaming bloody murder that the Dark-Lord himself has been reincarnated as girl." I choked with laughter; my sister glared at me.

"You will also be learning archery," he added as he turned away. I choked again, this time in horror, and actually inhaled spit. I spent several precious seconds trying to run after Elrond and tell him that the last thing I wanted to do was learn archery while being unable to inhale. The last time my parents had signed me up for archery I had been so bad even the teachers had given up on me. I couldn't even get the arrow on the string, as I remembered, let alone shoot. But by the time I had coughed myself out, Elrond was long gone and I was left with two grim looking elves standing guard over my sister.

I turned to look at her.

"I hate you," we said in unison.

* * * *

I stared in absolute _terror_ at the collection of bows in front of me.

"Well," an elf said impatiently from behind me, "pick one!"

I gulped and picked up the nearest one to me.

"That's too big. Try this one." The elf handed me one a little smaller, and then offered me a sting I suspected must have something to do with the bow. All I could do, though, was look blankly from the string to the bow to the elf and back again.

"String it," the elf said irritably. I glared at her; the woman was so muscular she looked like she could pick me up and throw me across the room if she got mad. When the thought popped into my head I hastily began pretending I knew what "stringing" meant. I looked closely at the bow and hooked the string around the top of it. That was easy, I thought, drawing courage. Then I tried to "string" the bow, and all I have to say is I have _immense_ respect for those of the elven-race who can actually _shoot_ with these things, let alone string them. 

I was struggling with the bow for a moment as the elf looked for a quiver for me. I managed to push the bow out slightly with my knee and tried to bend down to hook the string around the bottom of the bow. The bow suddenly snapped in my hands and hit my nose. 

"OW!" I yowled, and fell backwards into the bow rack, sending bows flying in all directions. "OW! OW! OW!" 

I looked up to see the elf-woman standing over me with her hands on her hips.

"Archery butts," she said calmly.

"Archer butts?" I repeated dazedly. She scowled, as though thinking I had meant that as a joke. And I hadn't! Well. Not really, anyway.

"Move," she said dangerously, and I scuttled out of there.

As I moved out towards the "archery butts" I ran into Frodo. Literally. I'm still not used to looking down at people shorter than my waste line. 

"Hi," I said gloomily.

"What happened to your nose?" he asked in response, peering up at me.

"Rogue bow," I answered gravely. 

* * * *

When my nameless instructor herded me out to the archery butts, which, if you don't know, is a serious of increasingly alarmingly targets, who was there but Legolas himself, along with his escort. They hit the bullseye every single time they shot. I could not see the point to practicing if you are _that_ good.

I stopped dead. "No way in hell," I said calmly, "am I shooting alongside them."

The woman smiled unsympathetically. "Consider yourself in hell," she replied, just as calmly.

I tried to run but she caught me by the arm and hauled me over to the easiest of the disturbingly faraway targets. 

"Try to hit the target," she ordered me, handing me a blunt-tipped arrow and a bow. I scowled, snatched the things out of her hands and tried to fit the little slit-thingy on the back of the arrow onto the string. It took me a good five minutes of increasingly bad language. To keep this at PG, I have censored some of what I said: "This god*CENSORED* *CENSORED* arrow! I hate these god*CENSORED* pieces of *CENSORED*!" Finally I got the stupid arrow on the stupid string and tried to pull the thing back.

It took me a while to figure out how to let go. (This really surprised me, too. I mean, how hard can it be to pull back a string with a stupid arrow on it and shoot? Not that hard, right? Wrong. If you think otherwise you are either an elf or an archer. At the time, I was neither. Besides, I hate bows. They give you calluses on your fingers.) When I finally did manage to let go, the arrow when about four feet and flopped onto the ground. Some elves from Legolas's escort were exchanging amused glances. Red in the face, I marched over, picked up the arrow, put it on the string, and pulled it as far back as I could go—which was only about half what you could fully draw it to.

The string snapped forward and I yelped as it stung the underside of my forearm, dropping the bow on my foot in the process. "OW!" I hollered, grabbing my foot. "Ow goddammit!" The elves—every single one of them, yes, INCLUDING LEGOLAS, gave me a chastising look for swearing. I glared at them all, even my crush, and then turned to see where my pains had gotten me. The arrow flew at the target, and then effective flew _over_ the target, landing somewhere in the forest beyond.

I heard howling laughter from behind and turned to scowl at my sister.

"I'd like to see you do better!" I snarled. 

"Fine, then." She smirked, stood up from her leather cleaning, took the bow from my hands and pulled out a second arrow, aimed and fired.

The arrow hit smack-dab in the middle of the target.

"See if you can best _that_," she sneered, and tossed the bow back to me. I stood, crestfallen for a moment, then snatched up a handful of arrows and began rattling them off at the target.

I think I hit the edge of the target on the tenth time.

My teacher stopped me before I could run myself, or my sister, into the ground, but I was so furious I was about to dunk my sister in the horse trough when I saw her walking over towards Legolas. Horror raced through me, and I bolted towards her.

Legolas turned to greet her…

My sister—" she began, grinning.

"DIE!" I screamed, shocking the party of elves as I flung myself through the air to land on top of my sister. We tumbled to the ground, the elves scattering to avoid us. I got up and managed to sit on my sister, who promptly began trying all sorts of dirty tricks to get me off.

"So sorry," I gasped. "She's delirious. High fever. Must get back to bed!"

I hauled her up and she said, "My sister is _obsessing_—"

"Over archery!" I interrupted hastily, and kicked her hard enough for her to yelp. "See you later! Buhbye!" Fear giving me strength, I hauled my sister over to the horse trough, and to the horror of the elves, threw her in.

"Now just wait a minute—" a tall, blond elf who was not, for the record, as cute as Legolas, said.

"This doesn't concern you, buddy," I snarled. "Butt out!" The elf looked positively scandalized. I turned back to my soaking wet sister. "Alrighty, you want war? I'll give you war!"

"What war?" someone said behind me.

"I said, butt out!" I snapped.

"Oh?" the voice said again, and I froze.

Slowly I turned and found myself being regarded, not by just anyone, but Aragorn himself; and my body went numb with fear. (PS. If you haven't figured this out, I was TERRIFIED of Aragorn in the books.)

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," the ranger said, dryly.

"My sister thinks Le—"

I clamped a hand over Clara's mouth, and smiled through gritted teeth. "Hi," I said, "I'm Abby, this is Clara. Goodbye." I turned and ran, dragging my sister with me.

I suppose I did deserve some punishment for what I did next, but at the time I certainly didn't think so. (You want me to be honest? I still don't think so.) Okay, okay, I locked her in the basement KNOWING she hates the dark but gods, she was about to give away the one secret I held most precious! 

Elrond and the other elves, of course, could hear her shouts much more than I could, so when they finally got her out Elrond was none too happy with me.

So what happens? I end up with punishment work.

And not only that, but she _told_ him! (What do you mean, who? Who do you _think?_)

My life was the pits.

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?

Much thanks to all the people who reviewed so quickly! Few, I posted it one night, and the next I had nine reviews—thanks everyone! And espeically thanks to ElfWarrior, Emli, and The Mouth of Sauron for their dry comments and younger sibs that made this all possible. And thanks, too, to Nemis, for saving me a heck of a lot of trouble by fixing my italic-upload problem…


	4. Chapter Four: Legolas Greenleaf

DISCLAIMER: Only Abby and Carla are mine.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter, thanks to Nemis's latest chapter on her Elrond and Celebrian story, is going to be a little melancholy. *Thinks of Elrond and Celebrian, and blows nose. Loudly.*

AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE: No, this is not going to be a Mary-Sue chapter.

Chapter Four

Legolas Greenleaf 

How do you know Carla told him? you wonder. How do you know she spilt your biggest secret? How could _anyone_ do that, especially to his or her sister?

Answer: because she's Carla.

It was rather hard to miss, you know. Next morning, I get up, grumble about a breakout of zits on my cheek, stare at my stringy, greasy, filthy hair and think, I _really_ need a bath. I've gone from a blond to a brunet in three days! 

Then there was a knock on my door. I padded over in my nightgown, carefully avoiding the door when I opened it, and looked out. No one was there. I frowned, and looked left and right. Then my eyes popped out of my head and I jumped into the corridor, slamming the door behind me.

"CARLA!" I screamed.

Both walls of the hallway, the _entire walls_, floor to ceiling, were covered with little notes saying: **ABBY LOVES LEGOLAS!**

I started running around frantically, tears in my eyes as I wrench the notes down, cursing the elves under my breath. Why hadn't they helped take down the notes?

I looked around a corner and saw about five of them taking down the notes in the _next_ corridor.

The corridor, I realized with growing horror, that Legolas was staying in. 

Wailing pitafully, I flung myself back into my room, pushed first the dresser, then my vanity, then the bed up against the door, and sat crying on the floor.

The problem, and I'm sure you can all relate to this, is when you want to cry, it seems like everyone is trying to find you. After a while I gave up trying to stifle my sobs when people knocked and asked if I was okay. Of course I wasn't okay, you nincompoop! An elf, an _elf_ knew about my total love and obsession for him! Human guys might either be freaked out or flattered, but elves, boy, there's a big difference between elf-guys and human guys. I knew, I just _knew_

Legolas was going to try to act gallantly about the whole thing and I _could not take it!_

"I wish I were dead!" I howled, and flung myself on my bed, pressing my face into the soft pillow.

"Abby?"

It was my archery teacher.

"Abby, I want to talk to you."

"Go away!" I shrieked. 

"Abby…"

"I said, go away!"

There was a long pause. 

"Abby?"

"What?"

"Open the door."

"Why?"

"I want to tell you something."

"What?" 

"Open the door."

"No."

I heard her sigh, and then a moment later she had the door open about six inches, to my amazement. That's what I call putting your back into it.

"No one thinks any less of you, Abby," she said, unusually gentle.

"You don't mean that," I sobbed.

The bed creaked as she pushed the door open further, and then closed it behind her as she slipped inside. I turned onto my side so I could see her.

"Elrond's fed up with her," the elf told me quietly.

"Oh?" I said miserably.

"You know elf-lords and elf-princes. They take their duties to their people very seriously."

I perked up a bit. "And?"

She smiled. "And your sister is currently being forced to move the manure pile to the other end of the barn."

"After?" I asked with a weak grin, seeing where this was going.

"After some unnamed elves threw her in it."

I settled back down on the bed, cried out. The elf sat next to me.

"You never told me your name," I said sleepily.

The elf brushed her long blond hair out of her eyes and regarded me. "My name is Elwen."

And then I was asleep.

* * * *

"Move it!" I heard someone yell as I trotted down the path in one of the gardens. "Hup two, hup two, hup two, movemovemove!"

I hid a grin as I saw one of Elrond's old sergeants drilling my sister on gardening. "Move those hands! You call that planting? I'll show you planting!"

I _love_ the elvish version of boot camp.

In my hands I held a book I had snatched from Elrond's library. Note about Elrond's library: if you somehow got the idea that the library is a tiny, cozy place, you are greatly mistaken. It is huge; probably the biggest room in the entire complex of Rivendell. It puts the Alexandrian Library to shame. 

I had grabbed a battered, bruised, torn and stained original copy of an elf's diary that I thought would be interesting to read. Feeling rather smug and self-satisfied, forgetting I had been avoiding Legolas for the last week, I sat down and opened to page one.

Which was when I realized it was written in elvish. 

Muttering under my breath, I stood up to see Legolas walking down the path towards me. My thoughts were not pleasant. _Oh, goddamn fricken dammit shitshitshit!_

I looked for someplace, anyplace I could hide, but he had already seen me, and once an elf sees you there is no way you are ever going to be able to get him off your tail. 

I gulped and prepared for my demise in the form of humiliation.

Thank Elbereth for Elrond. 

"Abby!" he called from one of the terraces above me, frowning. "Did you borrow a book?"

"Yessir! I'll be right up, sir!"

"No, it's all right—you don't have to, really. And don't call me sir!" he added as I disappeared back into Rivendell. 

I left Legolas standing by the bench outside.

So I felt a little guilty. I was running from my one true love. But what can I say? I was bloody stinking terrified of what he might say to me. 

I ran back into the library, and hid in the shadows, panting heavily as I tried to slow my heart. I leaned against the dusty walls (Elrond _never_ let anyone dust in here, so if you have allergies I don't suggest you go in there) and felt the cool wood against my back and neck. The air was chilly, as the windows were heavily curtained during the hottest part of the day. 

I put the book back, and, completely forgetting that Elrond would most likely be somewhere in here, studying, I began to sing softly. Remember, in this library, you are quite able to sing in one section, and not be heard in the next. Elrond says that's why he keeps it dusty—it's a good insulator. 

__

*Gil-Galad was an elvenking

Of him the harpers sadly sing

The last who's realm was fair and free

Between the Mountain and the Sea

His sword was long his lance was keen

His shinning helm afar was seen

The countless stars in heaven's field

Are mirrored in his silver shield

But long ago he rode away

And where he dwealth none can say

For into darkness fell his star—

"In Mordor, where the shadows are," a soft voice finished from behind me. 

It was Legolas. 

?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?

*_The Fall of Gil-Galad, The Fellowship of the Ring, By J.R.R. Tolkien. _I in no way claim this song as mine. 


	5. Chapter Five: Conversations

Disclaimer: Carla and Abby are mine, no one else is…

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Had to raise the rating for several more swear words…

Chapter Five

Conversations

He had me cornered.

Of course, that was the whole point of cornering me.

He smiled blandly at me, and I almost fainted. Elbereth, I thought fiercely, if you had anything to do with this—!

The fact that I heard a soft chuckle in my head that was neither my conscious, nor even human was not comforting.

"I'm sorry your sister played that prank on you," he said, a bit awkwardly. 

"Uh, thanks."

"Is it true?" he asked bluntly.

I bit my lip.

"No," I lied.

"You're lying."

Damn those elves.

I looked down at my feet and nodded. 

"You're not the only one," he said softly.

__

That pissed me off. "Oh, so I suppose you think you're a _fine_ person?" I snarled. "Just because you're bloody handsome does not bloody mean that I am bloody going to let you bloody patronize me! You arrogant pimp!"

"I didn't mean it that—"

Regretting my actions immediately, I shoved passed him and ran from the library. 

I almost plowed into Elwen as I turned a sharp corner in the hallway. I skidded to a stop and she neatly sidestepped me. I regained my balance, and would have kept going but she grabbed my arm.

"I thought I should warn you that your sister just got released from boot-camp," she said before I could yank free. I had started calling it boot camp, and the name had stuck.

However, some days you just can't win. 

"She's in with Elrond right now," Elwen continued. "Getting another dressing down."

"Good," I replied, too calmly. "If you see her, tell her she's won." Elwen was so startled that I was able to pull free, and I fled down the hall. 

And ran smack-dab (literally) into Elrohir. Or Elladan. Don't ask me to tell them apart.

"What—!"

"Watch where you're going!" I snapped

"But—"

"You elves are all alike!" I continued, glad to find someone I could blame. "Just trying to ruin everyone's lives with your 'oh I'm so gorgeous attitude' and your bloody arrogance! Well you can bloody well move out of the way!" I shoved past him and continued down the hall at a dead run. 

I have to admit that later on I was mortified at how rude I was. However, at this point I was so upset, I didn't care who got caught in the middle.

And it was then that I ran into Elrond. Once again, literately.

I woke up on the floor with him bending over me, brow furrowed. Elrond make look like a quiet, gentle, scholarly type, but man, he _must_ be working out. I felt like I had run into a piece of granite. And my nose was bloody. 

"I hate my bloody nose," I said flatly, staring at the ceiling. "I hate my bloody life."

"It won't be bloody for long," Elrond replied, pulling me to a sitting position, holding a handkerchief to my nose, and pinching it to cut off the blood. I couldn't tell if he was serious or not. 

"Come with me," he ordered. I had a feeling I knew what this was about. How is it that elves can get gossip to travel so fast?

I followed him dully out of the House and down to the stables, where I could hear Carla singing: "They're so loooooooooooooooooow, low below me, I'm so showly. They're so looooooooooooooooooooooow, low below me…"

Elrond grimaced; instead of going into the stables, he whistled. A horse perked up its ears in one of the paddocks, jumped the fence, and trotted over. The horse nuzzled Elrond affectionately, and Elrond stroked the animal's forehead. 

"Come on," Elrond said as he easily swung onto the horse's bareback. I gulped. He smiled suddenly, the first true and unhindered smile I had seen from him. He held out his hand. I gulped again, reached up and grabbed it, and he pulled me up with startling ease. 

I had just enough time to grab hold of his waist before we were off. 

It was an elven horse we were riding, of course, and a beautiful gray one at that. On the other hand, since I was rather terrified of horses in general, riding at a dead gallop with a severe pain in my behind from the animal's backbone and clinging to the waist of an elf-lord was not something I would have chosen to do. However, I didn't have much choice in the matter. And I smelled.

I was having a _really_ bad day. 


	6. Chapter Six: Riding With Elrond

Disclaimer: Abby and Carla are mine (thank the gods for the copy-option.)

Chapter Six

Riding With Elrond

"I hurt," I groaned as I flung myself in a bed of moss on the ground. It twilight, and we had been riding for most of the day. "I really, really hurt."

Elrond smiled as he tended to his horse, and didn't answer. I watched him through half-closed eyes as he cooled and watered the stallion. How did I know it was a stallion? I'm a horse expert. 

Okay, okay, so I asked. 

We had stopped in a peaceful little knoll with a tiny stream trickling by on one side, forest border two sides, and a cliff on the last side. The green cliff opened up to a spectacular view of most of Rivendell. You could see waterfalls and water-spray fall and rising, respectively, for miles. It was a beautiful sight, even in the dim of the evening. 

I realized Elrond was humming a soft, gently melancholy tune to himself, sometimes adding words in the elven-tongue. For the first time since I had arrived, I felt a sense of calm. I fell asleep shortly after.

* * * *

I woke to the sound of music, and the sweetest, saddest song I had ever heard sung. 

Looking over, I saw an elf-woman that looked so much like Elrond she had to be his daughter, Arwen. She was singing, hands clasped before her, eyes alight. Elrond stood a little ways away, watching her fondly. The elves, and there were many of them, were dancing a difficult, graceful and beautifully intricate dance. 

Now, I'm no poet, and don't you dare compare me to one, but I have to say it was something I will never forget. Elves live for starlight, almost more than they live for anything else, and that eve was a new moon. The stars were so bright above they were practically alive. And far below them, the elves twirled and dipped, barefoot on the cool, dewy grass. I smiled, and went to sleep again, smiling, their singing wafting through my mind and into my dreams.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe elves weren't arrogant about their beauty. Maybe they were still trying to except it. Maybe they were no more perfect or immortal than we are. Maybe they were closer to us than we had ever thought.

But when I saw then dance, I knew they were also far more different from us than we would ever know or understand.

* * * *

I woke up the next morning in Rivendell, in my bed. I clasped my fingers behind my head and watched the sun play against the rafters, and outside someone was playing a sweet-sounding flute, the song dipping and rising much like the elven-dance I had seen the night before. 

I've had little peace in my life. With my parent's fighting all the time, my sister stealing what attention they gave us, I had never been truly calm or relaxed. 

But as I said, I am no poet. So I pushed such thoughts out of my head and proceeded to fuss over my appearance, trying on several different outfits, before seeking out my sister.

She was working in the garden, watering. It seems she had _grown_ fond of gardening. Forgive the pun. 

"Hey, stupid," she greeted me.

"Hey, wart-face."

"How's it going?"

"Not bad, you?"

"Oh, just peachy."

"You choke over some food lately?"

"You choke over your perfume?"

"And this is coming from the girl who wrote, 'I'm nose-busy, don't booger me' on her door to keep Grandma out?"

Carla smiled grimly. "It worked."

I watched her work for a while. I had wanted to hit her, scream at her, pull her hair for what she had done. But I also wanted to know why. Why did she hate me? Could it be a total misunderstanding? Were we simply not communicating?

However, this isn't a Mary-Sue. So I hit in her instead. 

I popped a pimple by accident during the fight, and she got a bloody nose, but we both felt much better when we were done. We finally understood each other.

"I hate you," we said in unison. 

* * * *

I ran into Legolas that afternoon, not literally. I leaned against a banister next to him, and followed his gaze towards where two elves were playing on harps. 

"I'm sorry I upset you," he said abruptly.

"I'm sorry I called you a pimp," I replied. Finally. We were on even terms, on neutral turf. 

"I think you'll be going soon."

"Why do you say that?"

He didn't answer.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked.

"Of course."

"Is your hair real, or is it a wig?"

Legolas broke out laughing, and I had to grin myself. "It's quite real," he replied, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. "Now may I ask _you _a question?"

"But of course," I replied in a terrible French accent.

"What's a pimp?"

I couldn't speak for laughing. 


	7. Chapter Seven: Happyhappyjoyjoy, AKA, Th...

DISCLAIMER: Carla and Abby are mine

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I decided not to raise the rating. The swearing isn't bad—if you think it is, let me know via email (LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com) or via review. Thanks!

Chapter Seven

Happyhappyjoyjoy, AKA The End

I whistled loudly as I strolled down the corridor, leaving Elwen to explain what a "pimp" was to poor Legolas. Elwen told me later that she had said it meant, and I quote, "A Meany." I could have hugged her for that. Except, you don't hug elves. Unless it's totally spontaneous. It embarrasses them. 

I ran into Frodo, and luckily for him, it was not literally. 

"Heya, Frodee boy," I said, and ruffled his hair. He looked up at me, startled, with those big blue eyes and I grinned mischievously. He blushed; he is just so _cute!_ Not hot, like a certain blond elf (cough, cough) but cute, cute. Little kid cute. Adorable. Puppy adorable. Okay, somebody shut me up. 

"Hullo," he replied shyly. 

"How's Sammywise doing?"

"Good."

"That's great." I ruffled his head fondly. "Behave yourself, you hear me? Do what Gandalfy says."

Frodo gaped at me. "Uh—"

"It's a beautiful morning!" I sang, doing an improvisation on the chacha. "And a wonderful da-ay…Oh, it's a _BEAUTIFUL MORNING! _And a wonderful da-ay! Oh! Happyhappyjoyjoy, happyhappyjoyjoy, happyhappjoyjoy, yeah, it's a birthday! Happyhappyjoyjoy, happyhappyjoyjoy, happyhappyjoyjoy, yeah, it's a birthday!"

Frodo looked at me with plain terror in his eyes, clearly believing I had gone mad, and fled screaming down the hall as I danced my way back to my room, severely frightening Bilbo on the way. 

* * * *

So that's most of the story. I mean, do you really want to hear about the _K.I.S.S.I.N.G._ scene between "coughcough" and "coughcough?" What'doya mean, who's coughcough? C'MON! Who do ya _think?_ Okay, okay, I see a raising of hands—SOLD! To the reader reading this reader-friendly reader. Okay, I'll stop now.

So, to make a REALLY long story short, later that day I stumbled back into our world. Nothing particularly glamorous; there was mom, with the firemen in the house (it seems her surprise chicken casserole had a bad attitude towards the fire extinguisher) with dad, covered in soot. Then I was snapped back to Rivendell, and I realized I probably didn't have much time. So I found Elrond and Elwen in the Library, with Legolas, who was gagging my sister, and asked for a tiny weeny itsy bitsy nicker bicker sneeky weaky tootsy wootsy favor. 

"Say, guys?" I said. They looked at me, even gagged Carla. "Need a vacation?"

And they agreed. 

So, after the firemen left, I got my parents to go out to the local dance floor and pop some joints with the twist. Elrond actually really got the hang of it, and he and mom started really doing it as Elwen tackled dad's two left feet. Legolas danced with me, of course, and what a GORGEOUS dancer was he! 

Carla found an elf-boy twice her age and half her height to dance with. I felt pity for the poor boy. 

When Frodo showed up momentarily, however, things got interesting. Especially when dad came up to him, gasping for air, and said, "Froddie, right?" Frodo fled screaming. I don't blame him. 

"Go do it, honey!" mom screamed at dad as he did the twist with Elwen. They were a good dance couple, and Elrond and mom were even better. Carla and I howled with laughter, until she put punch down my back and so I stuck gum in her hair and we had to be driven home early to change clothes and cut hair, respectively. 

Yeah. That's the story. Sounds really weird, huh? I mean, do YOU see Elrond doing the disco with forty-something momma mia? I didn't, either. But man, they were roaring up the dance floor. Elrond must have been one hunka hunka when he was younger…but he paled in comparison to Legolas. 

Can you spell, H.O.T?

Before the elves left to go back to Middle-Earth, Legolas took me aside. "I want to give you something no raving fangirl will ever forget," he teased me, since he'd caught me talking about raving fangirls. And then he kissed me. (SQUEAL!) Right on the **_LIPS_**! (SQUEALSQUEALSQUEAL!) And left me breathless and all. He is a hellova good kisser. He even kept me from bumping noses! It's a night I won't soon forget. 

Can you spell, R.O.M.A.N.C.E?

But the elves finally went back to their home, and mom and dad completely forgot about the whole thing (do I smell a bit of elf-magic?). But when Carla and I staggered out of bed the next morning, racing each other to the bathroom, we both paused outside the door, squinted sideways at one another, and said, "Naaw. Couldn't have." Then we turned and stared at our reflections in the bathroom mirror, until we both noticed something.

Someone had woven silver leaves in my hair.

Can you spell, L.O.V.E?

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

Hey, guys! Thanks so much for the great reviews! I love reading them—I check 'em two or three times a day! I'm really glad you liked this—I LOVE writing stories like this. Oh, quick note. One reviewer said that while my younger sounded awful, being the younger sister is horrible, too. (And I completely agree—some of my friends are younger sibs and some are older, and there is something to be said for both sides. It kinda depends on what kinda sibs you have.) I just want to mention to everybody something that I didn't want to mention on the earlier chapters: I'm an only child. Yep, I had to study my friends with their younger siblings (and some younger siblings older siblings) to see how it was…and Carla is a combination of the worst from all of them. So if I got some details about sib relationships wrong, that is why. I did my best. J About archery, by the way—I do it, and most of that stuff happened to me that I wrote in chapter three. In fact, I got the idea for chapter three during my practice session. Though not the bloody nose, thank heavens. You wouldn't think it takes that long to get an arrow on a string…but trust me. It does. 


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